Life Here and After
by Tituba3
Summary: A series of oneshots surrounding the many facets of the lives of Ichigo Kurosaki and Rukia Kuchiki, both in their current lives, and ones they might have had before. After all, love is eternal and destiny can never be controlled.
1. Chapter 1

_**Life; Here and After**_

_**By Tituba**_

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any Bleach affiliates._**

_**--**_

_**His Reason**_

He stared at Aizen, his boiling blood flowing rapidly through his coiling veins, and he snarled.

Aizen had blocked his first two attacks but now the other Shinigami were ready to join the fight. They would work together so that Ichigo could destroy the traitor Sosuke Aizen.

His glare continued while Aizen smirked calmly. Then he cocked his head to the side. "I'll ask you one thing, Ryoka Boy." His voice was like poisoned honey.

Ichigo glared and gripped his sword harder. His fingers were digging into the hot metal and beads of sweat were rolling down the sides of his face.

Aizen raised an eyebrow as if he were an art collector examining a long lost painting.

"To what end do you fight me?"

Ichigo blinked. Was he seriously asking this?

"Do you have some kind of hatred for me?"

Was he _seriously_ asking this?

"You shouldn't,"

He really _was_ asking this.

"The fact that you're here means that Inoue Orihime has returned safely. And by the look on your face I can tell that none of your friends are dead."

His gaze darkened; sure none of his friends were dead, but one had come dangerously close.

Aizen smirked again. "Given those facts are you able to hate me from the bottom of your heart?"

Ichigo didn't even have to think. The answer was yes. Solid, undeniable, yes.

He would have told him why if the others hadn't interrupted him. They told him not to fall for his trickery. Ichigo could have snorted. He knew all about Aizen's trickery. He wasn't that naïve. His hatred was alive and burning and it had nothing to do with Inoue Orihime.

As he readied himself for battle he had a single image flashing before his eyes.

Aizen's hand thrusting into Rukia's soul and afterwards his resonating order.

"_Kill her, Gin."_

Ichigo hackles rose. Aizen was going to die.

*~*~*

**So yeah, I've been somewhat (brain)dead for the past few months but I've finally gotten back to writing short one-shots. I have a few more but I just had to post this in light of the most recent Bleach manga chapters. I hope you all enjoyed it. Feel free to REVIEW!!!**

**Tituba :)**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Life; Here and After**_

_**By Tituba**_

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any Bleach affiliates._**

_**--**_

_**Resolution**_

My mind was resolved and steady. Now if only my hand would realize my head's decision and stop shaking.

There could be no mistakes.

She was standing in front of me, her eyes black and wide, not the normal—and though I'd never admit it—lovely violet-blue eyes. Her garments were a mélange of ripped and rippling clothing that, under normal circumstances, would have made me blush. Now, there was no blood in my face whatsoever.

I gripped Zangetsu tighter as she struggled against the bindings her brother had placed around her petite body. The golden bricks were cracking under the pressure of her demonic aura. The acrid smell of that terrible reiatsu made my eyes water but I couldn't afford to move my hand to wipe away the result. If I moved my hand even an inch from the hilt of my sword my resolve would waver. I wouldn't be able to do it.

I swallowed and tried to remember when Rukia saved me… like this. I had to do this. I had to. The rain couldn't come back when the sun had been shining for so long. I didn't care if it was selfish. Those damned twins couldn't have her. I wouldn't allow it. I'd save her like she saved me. She had done it, I could to.

Why was this so hard?

My fingers cut into Zangetsu, wetting the hilt with droplets of my own blood. After two heartbeats, blood began to fall onto the parched ground. If I was the poetic type, I'd think that my sword—my _soul_—was weeping. But I wasn't, so I didn't.

_Ehem._

The final golden bar broke and Rukia—was she still Rukia?—let out a howl. I winced but never allowed my eyes the respite of closing. I held Zangetsu high. I was ready.

Rukia's demonic eyes zeroed in on me and she grinned. She held her scythe high. She was ready.

We ran. Clouds gathered overhead. The symbolism was not wasted on me. The singular success of either one of us would mean rain for the loser. Again, I was selfish. I wanted to win. Afterwards, if she had rain, I'd make sure I'd wipe it all away.

I was inches away. I wanted so badly to close my eyes. My sword pierced her clothing was aching slowness. I could feel the exact moment the tip broke her white skin. She'd have a scar. I'd hate myself forever.

Through her heart. It fluttered at the intrustion. The vibrations raced up Zangetsu and shook my arms, wrangling me to the core. I drew her to me, my blade inside of her.

The ritual was complete. Her blade had pierced my most sacred of places and now mine had broken the barrier of hers. The circle had finally closed.

I knelt. I saw Byakuya and Renji in the distance. They were shouting and running towards me. I held Rukia tighter. I didn't want them to intrude just yet.

The smoke swirled around me and I bowed my head. My lips were pressed to her forehead, whispering:

"_I love you, Rukia. Come back to me."_

_*~*~*_

**A/N: I was absolutely astounded by the response I got from the last chapter. I mean, that was just amazing. Thank you to everyone who left a review. I want you all to know I'll try and get workng on a longer, multi-chapter IchiRuki. I started it a while ago but I didn't get very far. I'll try and get working on it again. :)**

**PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!!! And once again, thank you to everyone who left a review. It really made me feel truly welcomed back. :) 3**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Life; Here and After_**

**_By Tituba_**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any Bleach affiliates._**

--

**_Action!_**

A man with soft orange hair leaned down to the woman before him. His intense amber eyes pierced through hers as if they were laser beams.

"I'll find you anywhere," he whispered, his lips only inches away from hers. "Even if I have to chase you through time and space, even if I had to die one thousand times, I'll always find you because… I'll always love you."

The girl's eyes fluttered shut and her bottom lip trembled. The long flowing locks of her bright orange hair fell to her waist in a mass of delicate waves. Her large chest, which was tastefully encased in a tattered top, heaved with emotion.

"If I lived five different lifetimes," she said, trying hard to keep the tremble from her voice, "I'd love you in each one. There is no one else for me. I just… I wish I could…"

"Shh," he whispered, pressing his finger against her lips, his eyes staring even deeper into hers. Gently, he grasped her hand in his—it was rough and calloused and knew both the benefits and hardships of work—and led her to a small corner of a dark room. "Don't speak," he murmured, pressing his lips to her left eyelid, "Don't think." He kissed her right eyelid. "Let us have tonight."

"Yes," she breathed, pressing her heaving chest into his. "After all…" Tears now dusted her thick lashes.

"It could be our last," he whispered before pressing his lips to the hollow of her throat and lowering her onto the soft pile of blankets beneath them.

"Cut."

A low moan came from the girl's mouth and her hands began to weave through his hair. Alarms were ringing inside of his head and he began wiggling against her, his body halfway between gyration and escape.

"E-hem… _cut._"

"Oh… _Ichigo_," she whispered, dragging her mouth to his and claiming it in a wet, noisy, kiss. The young man's eyes widened and he began to tug away more frantically than before.

"Orihime. _Cut_."

Her hands began to wander over his bare chest while her lips stayed forcibly suctioned to his. Ichigo jerked backwards; he was quite desperate to detach her legs from the circle they had formed around his waist.

"_Oh for the LOVE of all that is HOLY_, _the man said_ _CUT!_" A voice shrieked from the outside the set area.

The young actor finally wretched himself off of his co-star and tumbled to the ground with a terrible thump. The girl, still lying on the makeshift bed in the dark "cellar" jerked upwards with a squeal. Action star Ichigo Kurosaki cursed and nursed a new bruise on his bum and lower back.

"Ichigo!" Orihime gasped, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine…," he muttered, swiftly bringing his arm up to his mouth and wiping hard enough to make the skin peel away. No doubt he'd have to go home and gargle bleach just to wash away the trauma Orihime Inoue had just inflicted upon his lips.

"I'm _so_ sorry Ichigo," the young actress simpered, "I just… I guess I just got carried away."

"I'll say," he grunted, hauling himself up to his feet and dusting off his pants. Not that leather could accrue much dust, but he did it anyway.

"Excellently done Kurosaki," said a man in a lime green bowler hat. He grinned as he approached the young actor, twirling his signature jewel tipped cane between his fingertips. "You put a lot of emotion into that scene. I doubt we'll have to reshoot."

Ichigo Kurosaki exhaled and sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever the hell was determining his fate for the day.

Orihime Inoue, on the other hand, looked like she had just witnessed a kitten being sacrificed on Beelzebub's satanic altar. The budding young actress who had a talent for believable death scenes gaped and pressed a hand to her fantastic bosom. "What do you mean we don't have to reshoot? We only did it once!" She looked back and forth between the director and her handsome costar, "shouldn't we do it again? Just to make sure it's alright? Or maybe a few times just to have extra reels—"

"I assure you Ms. Inoue," the director cut in smoothly. "Once was perfectly perfect." He reached out and patted the young girl on the cheek. "You both did such a fantastic job that I have no intention of making you do that scene again." He eyed the young actor with a raised brow, "_Ever_."

Ichigo fought the urge to cry for joy.

The director clapped his hands twice, narrowly avoided stabbing his knee with his cane. "Alright you two, take a break, I must get ready for the next scene. And someone really must consult with our lovely young writer before we start the next scene. All these changes she's been making…" He sighed and shook his head. "I'm beginning to wonder if we picked the right person out of all of those contestants—"

"Oh," Ichigo cut in, his mood souring instantly, "Don't worry, you did."

"Yes well," the director said, waving his hand dismissively, "Perhaps you could talk some sense into her. She seems to like you and all… well, until recently." His knowing eyes passed over Ichigo's rouging face and he winked. "Young women are fickle creatures Kurosaki, it's a good thing you're learning this early in your life."

"There is a difference between fickle and insane," Ichigo muttered bitterly.

The director grinned and turned to survey the set, "Yes well, I just don't really see how our main characters could find the time to make passionate love in the middle of a zombie apocalypse."

"That seems to happen a lot in horror movies," Ichigo said, his eyes now searching the throngs of people in front of him for one particular human being, the one who had saved him from being raped by the overly enthusiastic Orihime Inoue. He'd stomp around the entire movie set if it meant finding her.

_Stubborn, frigid, shrimp of a woman, _he thought, narrowing his eyes for the hunt.

Before he could start, a thin man in a headset bustled up towards him and handed him a paper cup filled with water. Hydration was a necessity due to the lights he was always under. "Mr. Kurosaki, you'll need your chest oiled for the next scene."

Ichigo cringed; he hated wiping that stuff off afterwards. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Give me a half an hour."

The man's eyes widened, "But sir, the director said—"

"The _director_," Ichigo snapped, "wants the _writer_ in a better mood. That's what I'm going to do." He gulped down the water and crushed the tiny paper cup in his hand, "Even if I have to _beat_ the happiness into that scrawny ass of hers."

The thin man trembled and, before backing away, pointed a spindly finger in the direction of the break room. Ichigo nodded curtly and commenced stomping. As if in a recreation of _The Ten Commandments_, the mass of people before him parted, creating a clear line towards said room. Everyone on the set knew something was upsetting him. Their decision to stay clear was extremely well-advised. It made Ichigo smirk with pride. His body wasn't just muscled for the camera. Years of kempo-karate and schoolyard fights had made him one seriously dangerous weapon.

Maybe that's what made him so interesting to most of the world. His bright hair, his killer body, and his devilish smirk were the perfect triple threat Hollywood was looking for. With one look he could bring a mass of screaming teenage girls to their knees. It was a gift, the tabloids said, and one that he could exploit to the fullest, if he so chose.

Too bad he hadn't really wanted to be an action hero. In fact, it had never even been part of his 'plan,' which had originally included college, maybe a medical degree, a wife and a few children. His eyes crinkled with memory as he recalled the performance that had gotten him his first audition—and airplane ticket—in Tinsel Town: eleventh grade, tights, cod-piece, and a balcony that was made of papier-mâché and plywood. "_But soft! What light through yonder window breaks… It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!_" Ichigo Kurosaki, star of _Hunted, Senior Year Screams, _and _The Pirate Prince_ had started out as Romeo, accursed nobleman of Verona.

He sighed and thought back to all that had happened in the two years since that Shakespearean performance. He missed the simple days before fake guns, oiled chests, co-stars who couldn't take a hint, the paparazzi, and a certain girlfriend who had a Volcanic Explosivity Index of about a billion and two.

Speaking of girlfriends…

Ichigo slammed open the door to the break room. Several of the occupants shrieked at the sudden sound—or maybe it was him, he was shirtless after all—and he glared at each of them.

Save the young woman sitting calmly at the table in the center of the room.

His burning amber eyes zeroed in on her. She did not acknowledge his presence but instead raised a Styrofoam cup to her mouth, blew on the lightly sugared tea inside, and took a ladylike sip. Her right hand was busy with a sharpie, redacting a worn script until it looked like a government document.

"Would you all give us a minute please?" Ichigo said through gritted teeth. Everyone in the room scampered out within seconds save the few who paused to look longingly at his naked chest.

The room was silent except for the closing and locking of the door. He never knew when she would get violent and frankly he'd prefer it if the paparazzi did not get access to photos of his broken and mangled body. Scowling, he leaned against the wooden frame, his arms folded tightly across his chest. She still didn't look up. She just sat, serenely sipping her tea. His scowl deepened. She had been like this for three weeks straight. Enough was enough; he wanted his girlfriend back.

"Ru-_kia_."

There went another line of dialogue—his, if he wasn't mistaken—but she remained icy and silent; after being mad at him for so long she had the cold shoulder _perfected_. His glower became fiercer and, after a moment of thought, he decided that death might be worth a word or two.

"Oi, Shrimp!"

Her calm exterior cracked the second a large vein popped on her forehead. A smirk formed on his lips and he knew he was in. She'd kill him later for using that name but hopefully she'd like him enough by then to stay clear of all of his vital organs.

"Yes _Kurosaki_?" she said. Her voice was pleasant enough but he knew her far too well not to pick up on the homicidal twinge she had inflected onto his name. When it was combined, the echoing stillness of the room, her stealthy fury, and the added screech from the sharpie made his skin crawl.

"Are you planning on looking at me anytime in the near future?" he demanded, trying to shake off the eerie sense of imminent doom.

"Not within the next century," she replied, squealing off another line of text. This time, however, she printed the words _**SEX SCENE**_ in bold letters at the top.

Ichigo paled. Within seconds the sharpie was thrown across the room and the petite girls' wrists were locked in his much larger hands.

"If you make me so much as _touch_ Orihime Inoue one more time," he growled, trying—but not succeeding—to conceal the panic that was laced within his tone, "I will commit suicide in the most gruesome way imaginable."

"Fine by me," she snapped, jerking her face to the side in an attempt to remove that one stubborn bang from between her eyes. He'd never tell her how cute he thought it was or how he hated when she actually tried to control it. "You won't see _me _shedding any tears at your funeral."

He smirked, suddenly smug. "But you'd be there," he pointed out.

"Only to dance on top of your stupid grave," she snapped.

"Oh I doubt that," he said, tightening his grip. She flinched but didn't fight him or back down. That was one of the things he loved about her. She was probably one of the only people on the planet who didn't:

A) Swoon at the sight of him.

B) Shriek at the sight of him.

C) Whip out a camera phone at the sight of him.

D) Create a complex kidnapping plan at the sight of him.

E) Fear him.

While the first four were all well and good it was the fifth that made his heart beat faster.

His jaw tightened but his eyes softened just a smidge. Out of all the people in the world, why did he have to fall in love with Rukia Kuchiki? She was his polar opposite in so many ways. She was much too short for _anyone's_ taste, she had a loud mouth that she could barely control, she could become a frigid bitch at the tiniest of insults, and she knew all the ways to crumple his heart with just a single, icy, word.

But she had courage. She never backed down from a fight, not with him and not with men twice her size—although he really wished she _would_ in those cases. She had determination like he'd never seen before in his life and she would never take second best when first was within her reach. It was one of the things the director liked so much about her. It was why she had been chosen as the victor in the Young Screenwriter's Challenge the director had proposed.

It was also why he couldn't look at her without going weak at the knees.

Yes, girly thing to say, but to hell with it.

He loosened his grip only slightly and brought a calloused hand to her cheek. She winced but did not move away. He gently turned her head towards him and made her look him in the eyes. She tried to trick him by staring at his nose but he knew all of her secrets.

"Do you _want_ to be made into another paparazzi princess?" he asked her, his voice tender. "Do you want them digging through your history and snooping around in your garbage—I mean that both figuratively and literally? Do you want them hounding you night and day without a single moment of peace? Do you Rukia?"

"Of course not," she replied, her haughty voice broken slightly by the telltale signs of tears, "But I'd rather have that than be avoided at movie premiers or be _pushed _into the freaking_ bushes _when out on walks!"

"I apologized for that," he retorted but a flashed look from her eyes had him biting his tongue. He didn't want to upset her any more than he already had. Although in complete fairness it wasn't his fault that his beanie had been stolen by some crazy fan with extremely good eyesight.

He sighed and bent to place his forehead against hers; her stiff body softened a smidge and caused him to smile. "I'm sorry, Rukia. I just… I just want to keep you to myself for a while longer. I want you to be Rukia, _my_ Rukia, and not the worlds Rukia or _Rukia, the mystery girlfriend of Hunky-Ichigo Kurosaki_—" they both paused for a moment to cringe at the tabloids' favorite moniker. "I know what it feels like to be hunted twenty four seven by the world's crazies. I don't want that for you. Not yet, not until we're _both_ ready for something _that_ public."

She sniffled lightly and looked away. He could feel her tough exterior cracking as she stood. Finally, her solitary shell dissolved and he was there to engulf her tiny body in his arms. She sniffled against his chest—she was too proud to cry—and he gently slid his rough hand up and down her spine.

"I promise not to avoid you at any more premiers," he murmured, pressing his lips to the top of her head, "and I promise not to push you into any more bushes."

"Good," she sighed, "because I'll cut your balls off if you do."

"Ah Rukia, ever the charmer." They both chortled for a moment before he pulled her back and glared. "But you have to swear to me Rukia, and I mean _swear_, that you will kill off Orihime Inoue in the next scene. Please, so help me God, I will stab her if you do not."

A wet chuckle bubbled from inside of her throat and a grin finally embraced the perfectly formed edges of her lips. She sighed theatrically and shrugged. "I don't know," she teased, "I've already told the director about a possible _erotic_ scene I wanted to insert."

Ichigo's eyes widened in horror but Rukia only laughed. "However, since you're suicidal, the director will have to leave today a tad disappointed. I plan on keeping you around for a little while longer."

His exhale was like a gale.

"Plus, while _I_ might take your death in stride, about ninety-eight percent of the world's teenagers would not."

He sighed and slowly wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "At this point, I could care less about world's teenagers." He grinned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Just as long as we're okay."

"Yeah," she murmured, snaking an arm around his waist and holding tightly. "We're okay… for now," she added and he smiled.

"I'm okay with that."

Grinning, the two exited the break room, simultaneously thinking of ways that zombies could dismember Orihime Inoue.

**A/N: I actually wrote this story originally as an IchiRuki fic and then changed the names to add to my Intermediate Creative Writing portfolio. So I hope you all enjoy it. Having a bit of a bad day, professors can be such douchebags, especially when they can't tell the difference between an honest mistake and intentional malevolence. Sorry, you all don't need to know about that...**

**Anyway! I hope that everyone enjoys this chapter! Thank you all so much for every review! It really keeps me pumped!**

**PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!!!**

**Tituba**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Life; Here and After**_

_**By Tituba**_

_**--**_

_**Game**_

A frustrated hand ran through her hair. Her nails were only inches away from digging into her scalp and drawing blood. She was angry. He could have cared less.

"You need to get over it Ichigo," she said, her voice commanding but soft, as if she wasn't quite sure. "You need to move on."

Like hell he would.

He didn't say anything but stood and left the family room, leaving Rukia to stew. No doubt she was trying to think of something else to say to him to get him to change his mind. She'd forgotten though, just how stubborn he could be. He'd learned from the best.

The next day, she tried to reason with him.

"There's no reason for you to just stay in this… situation. You know there's not. You have other options." A look sadder than dead kittens floated across her face and Ichigo nearly laughed. He hoped they were thinking about the same thing. And if they _were_—he knew they were—he'd never cave, she should really know that by now.

The next day, she tried to trick him. He heard a rustling in the closet—her closet, because apparently Karin snored—as she tried to sneak out in the middle of the night. He'd sat up in bed and watched her. She thought she was being clever. When he'd coughed and given her a raised eyebrow she hissed and growled and muttered her way back to her closet.

"I'm only trying to make this easier, Ichigo. Seriously, this shouldn't be that important to you."

He'd snorted. Didn't she know that anything concerning her was important to him? He told her he'd rather wait up each night and go to school exhausted than let her have her way.

Her resistance didn't last long. Soon enough they were back in the same position, with her sitting across from him, her hand in her hair, her eyes set in a glare. Ichigo was smirking. This situation was like good wine or cheese, it just kept getting better with time.

"Ichigo." She snarled his name like and oath and he couldn't have been happier.

Her fist slammed down onto the table and she stood, the chair springing to life and tumbling to the ground with a wooden thud.

"Goddamnit Ichigo!" Her face was red, so was his, but his was from laughter. "You need to move _on_!"

"No," was his simple reply.

He wondered if this was what Mount Vesuvius looked like right before it destroyed Pompeii.

She looked inches away from tossing the table across the room. Good thing it was heavy. She pointed accusingly to the board on the center of the table. "But you can't king me if you don't _move_!"

Ichigo grinned and raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't see why I should. I'm winning anyway."

Rukia's face turned purple and the next thing Ichigo knew he was face down on the family room floor, checker pieces falling over his limp body.

**(A/N: This particular fic is dedicated to darklori, who took the time to review all of my fics on the other site. Even the old and bad ones. :) I hope you guys like this and the next accompanying ficlet. PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!!! Tituba)**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Life; Here and After**_

_**By Tituba**_

_**--**_

_**You**_

Rukia felt his hands snake around her waist, pulling her backwards until her bare back met a warm, naked, chiseled chest.

Emphasis on naked.

"Again?" She sighed, her thighs closing in protest but she knew that it was a halfhearted attempt. The insides were slickening already.

He chuckled and the lithe expulsions of heated air hit the back of her neck, causing her to shudder.

"It's been over four hours," he said as casually as he could. "You promised we'd do what I wanted on Sunday if you lost the game."

She'd never play this 'checkers' game again.

"Yes well." She slugged under the warm covers and curled her arm around a crumpled pillow. "That was before I knew what you had in mind."

"You knew exactly what I had in mind," he countered, confidence oozing from every word. His lips were curled into a smirk as he sent butterfly kisses over her shoulder and down her arm. Her spine tried not to tremble, it really did. "And you wanted it."

Her tendency to tell the truth stopped her from offering a counter argument. She simply wrinkled her nose and allowed his fingers to tickle and teak her body at his leisure. She's start participating in a minute.

After only a few seconds she felt her body responding; if his hands were flames then she was the wood. No matter how hard she tried to pretend she was tired or worn or uninterested she knew she was ready to be lit on fire once more.

Rukia turned in his arms and accepted his kiss with a soft smile. When his mouth let hers to travel down her neck.

She laughed softly and hummed, "I think you're addicted to sex, Ichigo."

His nose wiggled against her collarbone and it took her a moment to realize he was shaking his head.

"No," he said, his lips writing pure poetry as he made her body quiver, "I'm addicted to _you_."

Rukia could no longer speak. Her lips were being put to better use.

She was smiling.

**(A/N: Oh I just love writing sex-hungry Ichigo. :D I hope you all liked it. PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!!! Tituba.)**


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